When James Met Holly
ROMANTIC SHORT STORY BY JULIE DAWN BAKER
All good writers know how to create a fun backstory, but had James been too creative with his own? Enjoy our romantic short story, with an unexpected twist…
James knew the social media company formerly known as Twitter was now called X, but to him it would always be Twitter. And Twitter, he thought, had a lot to answer for. Most of it good. He hoped.
After all, he met Holly through Twitter. When he signed up a couple of years ago, she’d been his fourth follower. He cautiously checked out her profile, saw she was a writer, and followed her back. From the moment they connected online, they clicked.
James knew it was down to the serendipity of Twitter’s mysterious algorithms that Holly saw his tweets, but she always commented and often reposted them. Over time, James had come to think of her as a friend, even though they’d never met.
But that was about to change. He took a deep breath.
For the umpteenth time that day, James wondered if it had been a mistake to agree to this meeting. Weren’t social media relationships supposed to be conducted with semi-anonymity via phones and screens? James couldn’t shake the feeling that once she met him, Holly would be disappointed, feel cheated perhaps, or even alarmed. Because James hadn’t been entirely honest with Holly.
Arriving at the little café in Chichester where they’d arranged to meet, James peered in through the steamy windows and scanned the occupied tables.
No Holly. There was still time to back out, but he wouldn’t do that. It was time to come clean.
So, checking that the latest issue of his favourite magazine was still stowed safely in his pocket, James pulled open the door and headed inside, his arrival heralded by the jangling of an old-fashioned bell above the entrance.
He ordered coffee and grabbed a table for two in the corner by the window. Sipping his drink, he gazed at the empty chair opposite and wished Jessica, his wife, was sitting there. It had been three years now, but he still missed her.
If Jessica had been with him, James wouldn’t have been quite so anxious about meeting Holly, because Jessica being there would smooth things over when they finally met face-to-face. There’d be less chance of any misunderstanding, no suspicion that James might have had ulterior motives for his deception.
On the other hand, if Jessica were here, James would probably never have met Holly in the first place. Never mind blaming Twitter, everything leading up to this moment could be traced back to his late wife, James realised.
After she died, James never got around to cancelling the subscription to her weekly magazine, and he found that he looked forward to Tuesdays when it was delivered.
When she was alive, Jessica had sometimes read the stories to him, or shared the letters – she even had one of her own printed once along with a picture of their cat, Whiskers, when he was a kitten. However, James had never read the magazine from cover to cover until she was gone. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed the fiction.
Shortly after he started reading the stories, he started composing tales of his own. Certain they weren’t good enough to be published, but nonetheless caught by the writing bug, James signed up for a creative writing class.
“Twitter can be a great resource for writers,” Derek, the tutor, advised during one of the first sessions.
Maria, the only published author of the group, agreed.
“It’s absolutely imperative for a successful writer to have a platform!” she gushed and produced her phone to show everyone her latest tweets.
Along with the rest of the aspiring wordsmiths who met every Tuesday evening in the village hall, James had dutifully signed up to Twitter. He created a pen name and posted a photo of Whiskers as his profile picture. Not that he shared his profile with the others. There was a lot James didn’t share with his writers’ group – certainly not passages from the mystery novel he claimed to be writing.
At first, Derek assured James that he didn’t have to read his work aloud to the group, but as pressure grew from the others, who were penning lofty opuses, fascinating memoirs, and intense psychological thrillers, even Derek began to lose patience.
In the spirit of collaboration, James, you need to make yourself vulnerable, and share a passage or two.
If James had been writing a mystery, he might not have been so shy. He wasn’t embarrassed that he wrote romance and what he thought of as “humorous family stories”, but he wasn’t ready to offer them up to the sometimes-rabid criticism of the group. They were inspired by memories of his rather ordinary, but nonetheless wonderful life with Jessica.
“Maybe next week,” James hedged, and didn’t go back again.
Besides, by then he needed all the writing time he could squeeze in. His weekly magazine was running a short story competition. He wasn’t going to enter, but Holly, who was a regular contributor, reposted the magazine’s tweet promoting the competition, and he’d decided to give it a go.
He didn’t win, but the fiction editor liked his story and published it anyway. More successes followed. And in this week’s bumper issue, James and Holly both had short stories featured. If Holly’s reaction on Twitter was anything to go by, she was as thrilled as James.
Love that we’re issue buddies! We should celebrate! Holly had tweeted with one of her signature promotional pictures – a shot of the front cover of the magazine propped on the arm of a chair, with a nearby vase containing branches of holly and her cat, curled in the chair, which James took to be a nod to him and his own profile picture of Whiskers.
She’d followed up the tweet with a private message.
If you’re free this Saturday, how about we meet for coffee in Chichester?
They both lived on the south coast, and it wasn’t the first time Holly had suggested the two of them get together.
Until now, James had managed to politely put her off. But, awkward as a meeting might be, he realised he wanted to meet her.
We really should celebrate in person! James agreed, his exclamation mark conveying more enthusiasm than he actually felt.
How will we know each other? Holly had enquired, once they’d decided on the venue.
I know what you look like from your promo pic at Arundel Castle.
Holly’s promotional photos posted to Twitter were legendary. She had quite the knack for creating a montage of themed accessories artfully arranged around a copy of her story. James often teased her that she was Queen of the Promo Pic, yet she rarely included herself in the frame.
A few weeks ago, however, she’d uploaded a picture of herself at Arundel Castle. A headshot showing her holding a copy of the magazine open at her story while peeking around one of the castle’s turrets – the perfect backdrop for her historical romance. But what struck James most was Holly’s lovely smile.
I’d forgotten about that photo. I hope you won’t be disappointed.
Disappointed? How could he be disappointed? In the picture, she looked as if she was about his age, but even if she’d edited her image to erase a few years, James wouldn’t care.
He was more worried that she would be disappointed, or even angry when she met him. Because all this time, Holly believed she’d been communicating with a short story writer by the name of Jessica James.
When he’d chosen his pen name, he’d considered using the more androgynous “Jessie”, but “Jessie James” made him sound too much like an outlaw, so, he’d become Jessica James. Only his editor knew his true identity. James realised that readers and social media followers – Holly included – most likely believed that Jessica James was a woman.
Of course, Holly had given him the perfect opportunity to come clean before their meeting, but his deception had gone on for so long now, he was convinced his big reveal had to be done in person. So, he continued the charade.
Even when she asked an even more direct question, he stalled.
How will I know you?
I’ll be carrying a copy of this week’s magazine. The one with our stories in, James told Holly.
Instead of a red rose in our lapels? she responded playfully.
Much more apt.
Indeed! I’ll bring a copy, too! Just so there’s no confusion. See you Saturday!
Hearing the bell tinkle as the café door opened, James looked up. There she was. Holly Thomas.
She wasn’t carrying a copy of their mag, but he was sure it was her. He pulled out his phone and surreptitiously checked her Twitter to compare the woman stood at the counter to the recent picture at Arundel Castle. Same red jacket. Same unruly chestnut curls. He watched her chatting to the barista as she ordered. Same lovely smile and twinkling eyes. Yes. Unmistakably Holly.
Carrying two steaming mugs, Holly wound her way through the scattered tables towards him. He was surprised because he hadn’t taken his copy of the magazine out of his pocket yet, but she was beaming in his direction. Caught up in the moment, James grinned back at her and was getting to his feet, when Holly zigzagged away from him and joined the man sitting at the next table.
Of course, Holly hadn’t recognised him. How could she? She wasn’t expecting to meet James. She was expecting Jessica James. Feeling foolish, James sat back down, and pretended to be absorbed with his phone, all the while eyeing the unknown man accompanying Holly. Was he her husband?
She hadn’t said anything about bringing her husband. In fact, it was news to James that Holly had a husband. Unlike some of the people he followed on social media, Holly rarely shared domestic details. All her posts focused on her writing.
Already worried about meeting Holly, now James wondered how her husband might react when he introduced himself? The man didn’t look the violent type, but all the same…
James considered quietly slipping away. Without bothering to finish his coffee, he stood up. He’d make his excuses later. Online.
As he was about to leave, James noticed Holly pick up a copy of their magazine and flick through it until she came to his story.
He heard her say, “I love Jessica’s stories, Tom. I’m really excited to meet her. I know I’ll like her.”
Glancing at the door – his escape route – James pulled his own copy of the magazine from his pocket. Holding it in front of him like a shield, he paused beside Holly’s table.
“Holly Thomas?” he asked, even though he knew it was her. “I’m so pleased to meet you at last.”
Holly stared at him, confused, her eyes flitting uncertainly to her husband, then back to James.
Before she could answer, James thrust his hand towards her.
“Jessica James,” he said, feeling slightly ridiculous.
“Jessica?” Holly and her husband chorused.
Yes. Well, no. My name is James, and my wife’s name was Jessica and… Will you let me explain?
“Tom.” Holly’s husband, who was clearly a man of few words, held out his hand for James to shake, and indicated the empty chair at their table.
“Please do,” he said.
And so, James did.
Holly and Tom listened, nodding occasionally, while James spilled his story. When he mentioned Jessica dying, and how that was the start of his writing, Holly’s eyes brimmed. He wasn’t surprised. Her writing, although often humorous, always had so much heart.
“So, calling yourself Jessica James was a tribute to your wife?” Holly asked when James stopped talking.
“In part,” he admitted.
Then, deciding it was time to be completely honest with Holly, he added, “I also felt my stories might be more…” he hesitated, “acceptable if readers thought they were written by a woman rather than by a fifty-something man.”
“I get it.” Holly smiled.
“You do?” James breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. I’ve been worried about meeting you, Holly, in case…”
Holly held up a hand.
“Lisa,” she said, “I’m Lisa.”
“You use a pen name too?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not Holly Thomas.” Her green eyes danced as she glanced at Tom.
“That would be me,” Tom said with a grin. “I’m Holly Thomas.”
“You’re kidding!” James looked from Tom to Hol… no, not Holly. Lisa.
“Like you, I adopted a pen name thinking readers of women’s magazines would expect female writers. And maybe that was the case when I started writing – which was almost thirty years ago now – but I really don’t think it matters these days,” Tom said.
James grinned.
Based on my own experience, I should have known better than to presume gender.
“But when I saw that promo picture of Lisa holding your story in front of Arundel Castle, I just assumed she was you – or rather, Holly.”
“I suspect quite a few people did,” Tom said. “It wasn’t my intention to mislead, but it was such a lovely photo, I couldn’t resist posting it. It was good to see Lisa smiling.”
“I was going through a miserable break-up, and Tom had dragged me out for the day to try and cheer me up,” Lisa explained.
“A break-up?” James blinked. “I thought you two were…”
“Married?” Lisa laughed.
James nodded. “I’m assuming again,” he said with a grimace.
“Lisa’s my sister,” Tom explained. “And I had her come along today because, like you, I was worried that Jessica James might be a bit perturbed when ‘she’,” he enclosed the word in finger air quotations, “was confronted by yours truly. Of course, neither of us needed to worry!” He chuckled.
“I was keen to come along!” Lisa piped up. “I’m a fan.” She flashed another of her smiles and blushed. “But as neither of you need a chaperone, I think I should leave you two to talk.”
“Don’t go!” James said, a little too quickly.
“Are you sure? I’m sure you have lots to talk about. You have even more in common than you thought!”
“We certainly do,” Tom agreed.
“Quite a surprise for both of us,” James said.
“Definitely a case of fact being stranger than fiction,” Tom observed.
“Maybe there’s a story for one of you to write,” Lisa said.
“A tale with a twist.” Tom smiled.
What d’you think, James? Will you write it, or shall I?
“It’s all yours.” James spoke to Tom, but his eyes drifted to Lisa. He was happy to let the story go to his writer friend, because James was already getting ideas for a story of his own.
A story about a man who lost his wife and didn’t realise how lonely he was until he met a woman with unruly chestnut hair and a captivating smile.
“We should take a selfie to post on social media. Maybe it’s time for us to do our bit towards breaking down traditional stereotypes,” Tom suggested.
“I’m not really a fan of social media,” Lisa protested. “As far as I’m concerned, Twitter has a lot to answer for…” Then smiling at Tom and James, she added, “Although you two connected via Twitter, didn’t you?”
“We did,” James confirmed.
“So, you could say that Twitter was the start of a beautiful friendship,” Tom told his sister.
For a moment, James thought Tom was referring to the online friendship between their alter egos, Holly Thomas and Jessica James.
But there was something about the way he looked at James and then back at Lisa that made James wonder.
As they moved closer together, and Tom held his phone at arm’s length to get them all in the frame, James had the feeling that perhaps this really was the beginning of a new story.
